


A Christmas Gift fit for a Chimera

by Endraking



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Captured Theo, Loving Soup, M/M, Savior Finstock, The Metal Ring, Theo POV, Unknown adversaries, Weak Theo, allusion to torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 00:45:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17193305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endraking/pseuds/Endraking
Summary: Theo is weak, being held in a cell for an amount of time he can't figure.  While his mind plays tricks on him between beats, the latest trick feels a little too real.





	A Christmas Gift fit for a Chimera

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Friendlysociopath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Friendlysociopath/gifts).



> To my Valiant Knight. I hope this continues to bring smiles to your face.

A Christmas Present Fit for a Chimera

 

 

Theo curled against the side of the mortal of his cell.  The cement floor damp with the moisture gathered from the sick dripping from the stone ceiling.  A harsh wind cut through the earthen room as the weak strings of bulb lights cast deep shadows down the hall that parallel his jail.  His wounds stung as the cold sweat began to seep into the cracked skin from days of torture at the hands of his captors. 

He didn't hope for the pack to save him, it wasn't their job.  He tried to think of how much time had passed since he was drugged and grabbed by the hunters as he played the bait.  It could've been hours or weeks or even months for all he knew.  Time held no meaning when consciousness would flee and the beats without questions were the only things to punctuate it.  Even his inconsistent meals and water were scarcely a way for him to determine anything. 

He did notice the sounds of steps, of boots to the entrance to the room he resided.  The other three cages that formed the outside corners of the square were empty.  He was alone.  He rubbed his hand, still swollen from his time in the vice, and his palm felt the zing of the frigid metal ring, somehow untarnished from his abuse.

His lids fell heavy as he blinked, his eyes and mind noting the complete lack of change in the masonry and steel beams that would probably be the place he spent his last breath.  He let them close though his ears protested, and his heart rate shot as the shuffle of feet changed. 

The sound of a strike, followed by another. 

A groan. 

The heavy fall of a body connecting with the floor. 

Something was happening.  He needed to be prepared. 

His body had different ideas as his mind screamed at him to wake up, to get up, to fight.  The heavy darkness fell as he let the comfort of the cool slip into his thoughts and bones as he slid down the side, letting the stone carry his weight. 

He barely registered the door opening or the arms wrapping around him, cradling his body against the strength, a wall of warmth and a scent. 

An intimate scent. 

A trick of his mind to lull him into complacency.  His mind should know better now, he was weak.  Already defeated.  Hopeless.

He let the slumber consume his body as his mind drifted to better places. 

To being curled up on the ratty sofa, leaning into Bobbie's chest while they watched a "new" episode of "Gilligan's Island" on the tiny cracked tube television.  He thought of the game shows, especially the ones that punished failure, as they laughed at the misfortune of the contestants that let their ignorance show. 

He could feel the dinner trays, the weak aluminum frames that held their dinners, usually take out or left overs or anything that a microwave could spit out as edible.  But he remembered their bed most of all.  The cotton sheets as he curled up against Bobbie's naked chest and laid his maw over his chest.  That was the lullaby that never failed to bring peaceful sleep.  The gentle, yet powerful heartbeat.

He shifted his head, the pressure of something metal and hot pushed against his lips. 

The cell didn't know warmth. 

Something was wrong. 

He weakly leaned away from it, dodging to the left before the right as this pestering metal heat burned the edges of his lips. 

It was another torture. 

It had to be. 

The scent of those Campbell's soups that Bobby would eat filled his nostrils, but he knew it was his mind again.  Tara was but one method that his soul set to torture him, longing for his cupcake was the newest game.  As it tried to push past his lips, his muscles tensed, and he shot backwards, rolling from the curl of wood and fabric to the harsh ground of...shag carpet? 

When did his cell get shag carpet? 

His eyes cracked open just as the harsh voice of joy cut through, "You've been asleep for the last three days!  You're going to eat something if I have to feed it to you while you sleep!"

The light blinded him, just as unnatural as the cells but brighter, warmer, more comforting somehow.  As the blur of his vision faded, leaving wavy lines to his periphery, he saw the brief look of concern before that maniacal grin appeared, flashing teeth and lips he'd longed to see.  "I knew you'd wake up if I tried to feed you chicken soup.  You only eat chicken soup when you're hurt.  You're fine!" 

He tried his voice, one he'd only used for howls of pain.  "F-fine?" 

The simple word seemed weak, a shell of its former strength but living.  Alive like he was.  "Yes you're fine.  I'm going to order us take out." 

Bobby rushed into their bedroom, still carrying the spoon, the chicken broth spilling to the carpet as he looked around his home. 

Everything felt the same, but different.  A light coat of dust lingered from his lack of cleaning and the scent of take out boxes in the garbage from many days ago pulled his nose.  Even their scents had faded to almost a memory.  He called out.  "How long?" 

Bobbie shot back.  "Too long.  No!  I know this isn't Tu Wong, I know it's Ming Wok.  I want a number 11 with extra shrimp rolls.  And soup.  No, the good kind.  Right away.  Yeah.  Yes the same place as always for the loud coach."

He barely trusted his feet as he stood and felt the silk black robe that covered his body.  The various cuts carried salves and bandages and his body even felt clean.  Bobby had taken time, consideration, and must've been incredibly gentle to bath him while he was asleep and manage to not wake him.  He slowly walked towards the bed room, pushing himself to move by will and desire to be near Coach, his Coach.  He made it to the door and leaned against the frame.  He asked again, his voice barely gaining flight.  "How long?" 

Bobby's gaze met his and while the smile was one of comfort, his glazed eyes spoke a far more painful story.  He could see his cupcake trying to decide how to answer when the truth flowed in a serious, pained tone he'd only heard when Bobby spoke of his departed son.  "Three months.  90 days where my life stopped.  Until I could find you."

"The pack?" 

Bobby darted across the room and grabbed him, pulling him tightly against his chest.  He felt light, like a tiny bird held to the chest of a bear.  The energetic side of his mate returned.  "Pack?  Those worthless kids??  No!  I found you.  They gave up!  Who taught them to give up?!?!  I didn't teach them to give up!  I found you.  I fought those people.  McCall’s people don't know you are back.  I said for them to consider something like this!  I told them.  Next, they answer to me!" 

He tried to weakly argue to fight with the shake of his head, but the heavy paw held him even tighter.  "Cupcake.  It wasn't their fault.  I messed up." 

Bobbie whispered against his head after placing a dramatic kiss to the top of it.  "No, they made a mess.  I saved you and cleaned up their mess in the process."

"Please, Bobbie" 

Bobbie's grip held him tight, he wasn't able to pull back, but he caught the drips of moisture that fell to the crown of his hair.  "Stop defending them!  You deserve better.  You deserve the world." 

He sighed, enjoying the warmth of that furry chest but not caring for the words sent with love that Tara's damaged heart had trouble interpreting.  "I-I deserve this." 

Bobbie's growl shook him and inspired him with a hint of fear but more arousal than he'd admit in polite company.  "Do you know what today is?  It's Christmas!  And what present did you receive?  Huh?  I couldn't give you a proper Christmas because of them." 

He cleared his throat and willed away the weakness as he looked up and met Bobbie's gaze with his weak smile.  "You gave me the best present, Cupcake.  You brought me home."


End file.
